A Different Sort of Legacy

A Different Sort of Legacy

by LoonyLoopyLuna

Chapter Three:

The Wizengamot of Old and Harry Potter

It was Daphne's first time in a courtroom. In all appearances, courtroom number ten was nothing short of a dungeon. The air inside was damp and cold, and the unmistakable presence of Dementors prompted her to pull her cloak tighter around herself to stop from shivering. She could feel all of her hope for Draco's parents leave her body as she climbed the stone steps to her seat. By the time she had sat down, her cloak still tightly fastened, her cheeks had assumed an unhealthy pallor and the bags under her eyes reappeared despite the Glamour charms she had cast upon herself this morning. She sought out the source of her sudden, intense gloom, and found a Dementor stationed at the door through which prisoners were brought.

The dungeon was large and circular, with one single round ceiling window that was charmed to show a grey, cloudy sky that matched the stone of the interior. Benched seating was arranged in tiers that all looked down upon a single chair in the middle of the room. Daphne bit her lip and tried to ignore the worst case scenario that threatened to become a reality today. She wished her parents were here beside her, though it was impossible. Mum would be in the front row bench, as close to the chair as possible. Dad would be testifying for Draco's father's defense. They had forbidden her to make herself conspicuous among the hundreds that had shown up for the trial.

With a small sigh escaping his lips, Draco sat beside her, trying to suppress a shiver. He suddenly appeared ten years older than their eighteen years, Daphne noticed, and with the startled look he gave her a split second later, she knew he thought the same about her.

She bit her lip in consternation and cast a somber look down to where her mother was sitting, her pin-straight blond hair hanging down her perfectly postured back. Hovering around her was her Patronus, a glimmering silvery-sheened peacock waving its feathers gently in the direction of the Dementors, effectively shielding its caster from the chill that oppressed Daphne and Draco. Casting a Patronus Charm, though not one of her better skills, was a necessity if she intended to hear out the entirety of this trial, and she withdrew her wand from within the folds of her traveling cloak.

The incantation died in her throat as a deeper voice intonated the words "Expecto Patronum" beside her. A silver hawk settled on Blaise Zabini's shoulder as he took a seat on the bench beside her. Both Daphne and Draco felt the cold grip of despair leave their hearts and gave a sigh of relief as the burden was lifted. "Thanks," muttered Draco.

Daphne smiled wanly but appreciatively at Blaise and finally removed the hood of her cloak from her head, revealing shiny curls that were as blond as Draco's own smooth, straight strands. They could have been siblings, just as Irene Greengrass and Lucius Malfoy could have been. Blaise knew that their friendship was older than anyone else's in their group, but also that his own place in their threesome was nothing new. Family connections had provided the circumstances, and circumstances had dictated friendships. He and Draco and Daphne had been playmates since they were toddlers. Theo had been next, then Greg, then Vincent, then Pansy. At Hogwarts, Millicent Bulstrode and Tracey Davis managed to find their ways into their tight-knit group, and held their positions tolerably well.

It had all begun coming apart at the seams during the summer after fifth year, following the imprisonment of Draco's father and Draco's subsequent withdrawal from them. And after a year filled with patches of no contact and uncertain loyalties, they were all in each other's company again, on the road to another year at Hogwarts, the symbol of all their past troubles and an unwelcome destination for a whole host of new problems to deal with. After all, if the Wizengamot, which was presumably a neutral ruling body, was so bent on giving a death sentence to anyone with the wrong connections, what would the returning student body have to say to Slytherin House? The house that wanted to give Harry Potter to Voldemort, evacuate, and be done with it?

Going back to school in conditions that promised such...fun, was not in any of their interests. Even Hufflepuffs would be spitting on their shoes.

The magically amplified voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt, new Minister of Magic, called for order in the circular courtroom, and silence settled over the participants as the gloom of the Dementors maintained a steady presence in the atmosphere. Blaise propped his left foot up on the bench in front of them, in between the generous bottoms of two smug-faced middle-aged witches, and rested his elbow on his raised knee, following the proceedings with keen, intelligent sea-green eyes. The side of his upper right arm was pressed against Daphne's left arm, a movement done on the latter's part to feel warmer rather than to glean any sort of comfort from him. Blaise did not doubt that she had pulled Draco closer to her in order to feel warmer on her right side, as well.

"The Wizengamot resides today to hear the defense for Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, tried separately for crimes against the wizarding community, in league with Voldemort, also known as Tom Riddle." The members of the judicial body began preparing note taking quills and other dictation spells as the Minister cleared his throat.

"Lucius Malfoy, former prisoner and escaped convict of Azkaban prison, you have been charged with conspiracy to murder as part of Voldemort's group of Death Eaters. Dozens of charges have been brought against you since your second arrest, from 'Muggle Hazing' to torture to murder. The prosecution against you and Narcissa Malfoy was presented in yesterday's session. Your defense?"

The spiffing attorney that the Malfoys had acquired immediately spoke up. "I present Ambrose Greengrass to the Wizengamot as a witness for the defense."

Daphne tensed as her father took his seat in the newly conjured chair that looked identical to the one that bound Lucius Malfoy. She saw her mother sit up straighter than she already was, the muscles in her back and shoulders as taut as steel.

"Please state your name for the record," said Shacklebolt dismissively.

"Ambrose Larson Greengrass."

"Occupation?"

"Owner and managing director of Ambrose & Parkinson Investment Firm, headquartered in Diagon Alley," enunciated Ambrose very clearly. Daphne saw her mother relax a little in her seat; she, too, noticed that her father had carefully erased all traces of arrogance from his tone. In this courtroom, the slightest inflection of tone would condemn Draco's parents to the mercy of the Wizengamot.

"What is your relation to Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy?" All the eyes of the Wizengamot focused their gazes on Daphne's father, as beady and piercing as talons. Blaise could practically read what was going through the minds of everyone sitting in the courtroom: How are they connected? Why is he helping them?

"We have been close friends for twenty years. I also manage their financial accounts through my firm."

Shacklebolt was interested. He slightly quirked his eyebrows before leaning forward in his seat and prodding Ambrose further. "Accounts, plural? My understanding was that the Malfoy account in Gringotts was the only one. Ladies and gentlemen, please correct me," he said in an aside to the Wizengamot, but everyone nodded and murmured in agreement with him. "If what you say is true," he addressed Ambrose, "then what were the reasons behind the Malfoys opening additional accounts in your firm?" What are they trying to hide?

"Lucius came to me and my wife almost a year and a half ago to ask for our help. Voldemort," he said, refraining from saying "the Dark Lord" that they were all in the habit of saying, "had expected Draco to fail in killing Albus Dumbledore, and so he had effectively taken Malfoy Manor as his own, using it as a residence, a base of operations, whatever you wish to call it. The Malfoys had been cut off from their account in Gringotts and had become virtual prisoners in their own home. He told me that Draco was being forced to attend Death Eater meetings with him, although it was clear that their family were of no real use to Voldemort anymore. Lucius had managed to remove some of their assets secretly and gave them to me for safekeeping."

"Gringotts had no record of suspending or freezing the Malfoy account," proclaimed the Minister of Finance, a self-important looking goblin sitting a few feet away from Irene. Daphne watched as her mother slowly clenched her fists in her lap, and then relaxed them, a common tactic of hers to rid herself of anger. The Malfoys' attorney - Daphne could not recall his name for the life of her - duly stood up to protest the interruption from someone who wasn't in the Wizengamot.

"As Mr. Greinweld is not a witness and furthermore, has not produced physical proof that the Malfoy vault was inaccessible, I ask the Wizengamot to disregard his comments."

The goblin sneered at Ambrose, who remained impassive. Daphne tensed as Shacklebolt stared her father down. "How were the Malfoys cut off from their money?" The Wizengamot, who had been murmuring in speculation after Greinweld's claim, quieted and turned their collective piercing gaze onto the witness once again.

"Lucius's sister-in-law, Bellatrix Lestrange, detained them," said Ambrose. "Through threats to Draco, warnings of how they would fall even lower amongst the ranks, and once, even the Cruciatus curse."

Daphne's eyes widened and she looked at Draco, who steadfastly ignored her startled gaze.

"Because several of the Black family heirlooms were protected in the Malfoy vault, she had access to it as well. Gringotts regulations allow access to vaults to whoever owns any single item in any vault, as long as the item contains an ownership charm that was cast by the individual desiring access to it," continued Ambrose. "Lestrange forced Narcissa to transfer ownership of the family heirlooms to her so that they could jump through the loophole."

Blaise watched as Greinweld narrowed his gaze at Daphne's father, possibly infuriated at the implications of his own incompetence that Ambrose was announcing to the entire Wizengamot, and most importantly, his boss, Shacklebolt. The latter was listening to Greengrass's explanation very carefully, holding his stare and in short, looking intimidating.

"Your testimony seems to imply that Voldemort sought to control the Malfoys through their son and their money, am I correct?"

"Yes."

"And the reason they came to you was to regain some of their freedom, as you imply?"

"When Lucius came to me, he only wanted a way out for his family. He didn't know whether Voldemort intended to kill them or not. He and my wife were childhood friends. Our children have grown up together. This was the least we could do for them," said Ambrose.

All of the dictation quills belonging to the members of the Wizengamot were scraping furiously away on floating pieces of parchment. Shacklebolt finally leaned back in his chair, though he did not remove his stony gaze from Daphne's father.

The observing members of the court were shifting and whispering around them. There was a noticeable gap of a few feet around the three of them, and Daphne was rather thankful for it. Although it didn't mean she had successfully managed to become inconspicuous, it did mean that she was less likely to overhear impertinent comments about her family and Draco's family. The people who did decide to sit near them did not seem particularly welcome in other sections of the courtroom themselves.

Kingsley Shacklebolt finally looked away from Ambrose and turned to the Chief Warlock, a nonimposing wizard silently applying drying charms to the glistening ink of his dictation notes. He looked up and nodded shortly over his small spectacles, then cleared his throat briefly. "Wizengamot," he announced, getting up in his seat. Blaise saw that he was quite short, no taller than five feet. "General queries or clarifications required of the witness shall be written on parchment and passed to Minister Shacklebolt. Please call for a ten minute general recess, Minister," he said in Shacklebolt's direction.

"Ten minute recess for the observing members of this court," repeated Shacklebolt, and Daphne saw him relinquish the Sonorus charm on his throat.

Beside her, Draco's jaw was set. He remained quiet even as he led their way out of the courtroom, through the now clamorous din of voices of everyone who had come to watch the Malfoys get their own. A particularly snobbish looking witch yanked the hem of her cloak out of their path, rewarding Draco with a glowering stare. He replied with a sound that could have been either a snarl or a scoff. Daphne could not tell which. The stares of complete strangers in a situation like this were still a bit unnerving, which was why she averted her gaze from the witch when the latter glowered at her as well. There was no use in reacting as Draco had. After all, her family was still in the clear.

She felt Blaise's hand brush across the small of her back as he walked past her to step ahead of Draco and lead them both out of the courtroom. She watched as he squeezed Draco's elbow gently and mouthed something to him that looked like "Shut up, mate." Draco's shoulders relaxed, and they both walked shoulder to shoulder in the narrow space between the last row of observers and the back wall of the courtroom. Daphne trailed behind by a few steps, drinking in the familiar sight of their backs, a scene she had not seen since they were all in fifth year.

In that respect, she would always be the odd one out in their group of friends. Pansy, at least, could claim a special closeness to Draco that Daphne would never have, nor want to have, for that matter. But the friendship that existed between Blaise and Draco seemed to exclude every other outside factor, and she counted as an outside factor. They communicated with each other without having to utter a single word. Blaise knew Draco as well as she did, if not better.

No longer shielded by Blaise's Patronus, she felt the cold gloom seep into her bones again as they approached the Dementor-guarded side entrance of the courtroom. She pulled the hood of her cloak over herself again, effectively averting any angry looks she was still receiving. Blaise, sensing that he and Draco were leaving her behind them, wordlessly extended his hand back, and she gingerly pressed her palm against his, wrapping her colder fingers around his own.

"Daphne." A taller witch was suddenly walking beside her, her intense blue eyes stirring a sense of familiarity in the blonde witch.

She knew her. It was Morag MacDougal, her classmate from Ancient Runes and Arithmancy. They were the two classes that Slytherins and Ravenclaws always shared, and Daphne had shared a working friendship with the Ravenclaw girl, preferring to schedule study sessions with her instead of with Theo and Blaise.

Blaise and Draco had turned around, eyes narrowed at the sight of Morag. She coolly ignored them in favor of squeezing Daphne's arm in greeting. "I was hoping I would see you today," she said, giving her a strained smile.

Daphne relinquished Blaise's hand and lowered her hood once again. "I didn't expect to see you...what are you doing here?"

Morag brushed dark brown bangs out of her piercing eyes and, ignoring the suspicious looks she was garnering from both observers as well as from Draco and Blaise, she answered, "I read that your father would be testifying. I'm here with Terry, Anthony, and Padma." She gestured to somewhere behind her, and when Daphne followed the line of sight she saw three other familiar Ravenclaws not so subtly observing their exchange. All of them were in her Ancient Runes and Arithmancy classes. And farther down their bench, she observed some other faces of their classmates, leading to a group of conspicuously grouped redheads. Her mouth felt a little dry as she struggled to talk.

"Do you mean to say you had to see it for yourself?" It was impossible not to make that sound like an accusation of distrust, but Daphne supposed it was for the best. It did not do to go back to Hogwarts with a false sense of who your friends were. After all, Morag was best friends with Padma Patil, who was the identical sister of Parvati Patil, a fervent supporter of the very people who would love to see everyone she cared for go to Azkaban. At her question, Draco glared at Morag, and Blaise gently took her arm as if to pull her away with them.

The brunette sensed her real question, however, and did not deign to show her indignation. "You should know I'm not defined by my friends' associations, Daphne," she said calmly. "Even Padma doesn't buy into all of this backlash, like her sister does," she added in a lower voice. "I came here to see if the Wizengamot is playing fair. From the looks of it, the Minister of Magic is under intense pressure to lock up everyone who has ever breathed in the same room as Voldemort."

Daphne released a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. So not everyone had yet succumbed to the feeding frenzy that had engulfed the wizarding world. Morag MacDougal, who had absolutely no ties to her world, just a smart head on her shoulders, could at least realize that the trials of the past few weeks had been demonstrations of the enormity of the Wizengamot's power to strip formerly affluent wizards of their wealth, homes, and freedom. It was their turn now, to ruin a few lives, too. Daphne could not wholly blame them. She could only hope her father passed the Minister's test. She could only hope Draco's father escaped the Dementor's Kiss, and that his mother stayed out of Azkaban.

She nodded to Morag, willing herself not to cry. "I'm glad you're here," she said softly, giving her friend a small smile. "Will you be in the same classes this go around?" she switched topics effortlessly. The former smiled too, taking the hint.

"The very same," she said. "I'll see you at school, then." She nodded to a visibly relaxed Draco and Blaise before turning and walking back towards her housemates.

Blaise wasted no time in pulling her by the arm and leading her out of the courtroom, only stopping once they were well away from the Dementors. Draco was beside her, looking curiously behind them, as if still wondering how much MacDougal could be trusted. Not sharing either Ancient Runes or Arithmancy with the Ravenclaw upper years, he didn't have any sort of acquaintance with them, and was confused at Daphne's level of familiarity with a girl he would have automatically dismissed.

"I saw the way her friends were ogling us, Daphne. How are you sure we can trust her?" asked Blaise, his arms crossed and his eyes focused on her own. Daphne felt a little shocked at his irritation.

She narrowed her eyes and answered, "She's not stupid. She knows that what's happening is excessive, but that doesn't mean she's thrown all of her weight on our side, either. And for future reference, we should be more suspicious of anyone who's too sympathetic of the Dark Lord's cause, not of those who speak common sense. You don't have to trust her, Blaise, but I do, until she gives me the slightest indication that I shouldn't."

To her further surprise, both men looked even angrier. "Stop spewing nonsense," said Draco aggressively. "Blaise said we, Daph. Whom you choose to trust is who we trust, too. He's trying to protect you. Us."

Us. Daphne wasn't sure if he referred to just the three of them or to all of their friends, but she suspected this was more intimate, more tight-knit. Blaise rarely got angry, and he never handled her physically in front of anyone other than Draco. They had been her friends the longest, letting her play on their team when they were all younger, putting off prospective boyfriends who didn't make the cut, finishing her homework if she asked nicely (both Blaise and Draco were phenomenal at Potions compared to her average marks), or providing a refuge for those sleepless nights, when all she wanted to do was cry or scream about Galen leaving.

So without a word, she did the only thing that made sense at the moment, and stepped up to Blaise, sliding her arms around his middle and pressing her ear against his chest. The thudding sound of his heartbeat sped up as he wrapped his right arm around her shoulders in a gesture of comfort. I'm sorry. Thank you. It was all she could communicate to him by hugging him in such a place as this, while the three of them wished for the trial to be over.

~~~~

Later, when Daphne had thought it over in her bed, she had begun to cry with relief. The thought of having friends, friends in the truest sense of the word, had given her a tangible sort of strength, a physical sense of wellbeing that had helped her go back into courtroom number ten and listen to the rapid fire of questions directed toward both her father and Draco's father. She and Draco had gripped each other's hands tightly, as if they were children again. Blaise's Patronus had taken to flying in lazy circles around their heads, protecting their hope from being snatched up by the Dementors.

It took all of her strength to control herself when she heard the Chief Warlock call for the vote. Tears of relief had blurred her vision when Kingsley Shacklebolt, after pronouncing Lucius Malfoy guilty of conspiracy with the Dark Lord, had not sentenced him to receive the Dementor's Kiss. She had watched her mother release the long breath she had been holding, her shoulders sagging slightly and the tightly strained muscles in her back relaxing. Draco's father would be in Azkaban for the next 25 years, possibly the rest of his life, but he had been spared from a fate worse than death. Members of the Wizengamot had murmured in disgust after hearing the Minister's sentencing, which in their opinion had been lenient.

Draco had bowed his head during the sentencing, choosing not to look at his mother, who sat next to their attorney trying not to let her sorrow show on her face. Only Draco knew how close his parents had been to each other; to see their separation was too much for him. He had gripped Daphne's hand tightly throughout the rest of the sentencing, and did not look up even when his father was escorted back through the door flanked by the Dementors. He did not watch his mother finally bury her face in her hands, no longer seemingly concerned about her own verdict and sentencing. He instead studied the trim on his robes as the Minister read Narcissa the Wizengamot's comments regarding her case.

The witches and wizards who sat around them curiously glanced at the three of them every now and then, eager to see their reactions. Daphne looked straight ahead of her, not exactly observing the proceedings, but not missing a word of Shacklebolt's speech.

It had been a smart move on her part; otherwise she was quite sure she would have missed his mention of Harry Potter. She swiftly turned to look at Blaise, not sure if she had just heard the Minister summon the Dark Lord's defeater. Blaise nodded at her, confirming it, but he looked just as bewildered as she did. Then, from the cluster of redheads Daphne had observed earlier, a dark-haired wizard stood up, his jaw set and hands relaxed by his sides. She found herself slightly dumbfounded at the knowledge that this classmate of hers had defeated the wizard that had imprisoned so many people she loved.

Harry Potter stood, waiting for Kingsley Shacklebolt's question. In the Minister's hand was an additional piece of paper, which he read in a clear voice. "I, Harry James Potter, am submitting my written testimony in defense of Narcissa Malfoy's innocence regarding the charge of conspiracy to murder. It was Mrs. Malfoy who was ordered to check if I was still alive in the Forbidden Forest following my duel with Voldemort. When she realized I was breathing, she asked me if Draco was alive and if he was still in the castle. When I told her he was, she pronounced me dead and Voldemort, not knowing I was still alive, ordered Hagrid to carry my body back to the main grounds of the castle. The Wizengamot cannot concur that this was inconsequential to the result of the Final Battle. Mrs. Malfoy's first thought was for her son, not Voldemort's victory. Knowing very well the story of my own mother's sacrifice for me, I cannot see how her actions in the battle should condemn her to the same fate as her husband's. I would probably not be alive right now if it weren't for her, and have never thanked her since that night. Submitted for the defense on 25 August 1998 and signed."

A flurry of activity buzzed within the courtroom as the Minister finished reading. Daphne looked again to where Potter was standing, unsurprised to see everyone else in the courtroom doing the same. The Minister called for silence, and then addressed the young man. "Can you swear to the Wizengamot and the rest of this court that these words are your own, Mr. Potter?"

"Yes, Minister," he replied gravely.

Beside her, Daphne saw Draco lift his head and for the first time in years, give Harry Potter his full attention. Now that what he had predicted the previous night had come to pass, she wondered if he still felt satisfied or if he felt ashamed. Everyone they had associated with was now the lowest of the lowest, and to think his mother would be saved by his former nemesis had to be eating away at his pride.

This is what you hoped for, thought Blaise. Though you would never ask for it yourself. His best friend had too much pride to ask Harry Potter for anything, but he knew that the Boy Who Lived had too big a conscience to stand aside and let his mother go to Azkaban after what had happened in the forest. Draco knew what had happened in there. Narcissa had told him.

The "not guilty" verdict had been met with sighs of disappointment from amongst the hardliners in the Wizengamot, surprised gasps from many observers, sighs of relief from more people than Daphne had expected, and tears from her mother Irene, who had gone to embrace her best friend's wife as soon as the shackles had disappeared from her wrists. Blaise, Draco, and Daphne watched the two blond women hug while the people around them, giving them curious stares, rose to leave.

Later that night, as Daphne pulled her bedsheets closer around her, she let the tears of relief stain her pillow. Draco would still have his mother. His father would not be that characteristic shell of a person that Dementors left behind them. Her father was safe from the Wizengamot. Her family was safe. She still had friends in this world, friends that felt closer to her than she ever thought was possible.

It was early morning of the twenty-sixth of August. School would start in less than a week, but at this moment, for once, she felt ready for it.